Chapter 14 Rhianelle #2
“No need for a sorcerer. There is a powerful magic that transcends all else. A bond more solid than metal, bestowed by the Goddess of Love,” Tierra says with an unnerving quiet. “The Arawynn bond.”
Utter delight shines in Eamon’s power hungry eyes.
“And who better to tame him than the queen herself?” Lord Ctibor says, interlacing his fingers with a smile.
My heart stumbles and hits the ground.
“I’d be very careful with your next words if I were you,” Rainer suddenly says from his dark corner. The temperature in the tent plummets with his icy tone.
“Come now, Rainer,” he says to my uncle’s darkening expression. “You’ve seen how the monster interacted with Her Highness?”
I think Lord Ctibor is very brave. No one ever tries to engage my uncle in a conversation when he is tired after a battle. It’s like watching a rat trying to poke a wolf.
“He does seem attached to you,” Tierra says to ease the tightness in the air. I add nothing to her words.
A full tense minute passes before Ctibor continues, “If we can bind the monster to our cause. We might have a chance to survive the wyverns and beasts of Avalon.”
Then you marry him. I almost say to the annoying Aldarelf.
“It’s what your beloved Aerin would have wanted.”
I can feel Aelfric flinching beside me. I wait for Rainer to dismiss his ridiculous proposition. But the hint of madness slowly settles in my uncle’s gray eyes the moment Ctibor mentions Aerin.
Heavens have mercy on me.
“For the Arawynn bond to work, the marriage needs to be—“ Lady Deirdre’s voice catches. “—pure in the eyes of the gods. Do you know what that means?”
The Aldarelf knows exactly what it means.
“You’ve lost your damn mind…” she mutters, staring at them in disbelief. It’s rare to hear such a sharp tongue from the Noble Lady.
I feel Aelfric’s hand tighten around me, as if he wishes he can spare me from this conversation.
“Queen Rhianelle is the symbol of our religion, the very essence of Aelfheim,” Tierra says calmly. “You want to surrender her to a Nightwalker?”
“Indeed. You’re getting ahead of yourself, Ctibor,” Eamon says, slowly rising to his feet. “We must convey what we saw tonight to the Elders.”
With that, the three Aldarelfs finally leave the tent. The quiet tension remains long after their absence.
“Are they for real? This is all too weird,” Kheirall’s whisper ripples in the silence.
“Folks from beyond the veil are a little different from us,” Ragnar mutters through his pain.
“Aren’t elves supposed to be the reasonable ones compared to the fae?” Kheirall asks again.
Aelfric clears his throat. “We can hear you clearly.”
Rainer collects his cloak and fine sword, making a move to exit the tent. Lady Deirdre’s eyes snap to him. “Tell me you’re not considering this.”
My uncle leaves without a word. I’m familiar enough with his reticent nature to know that’s my cue to follow him.
Aelfric suddenly grips my hand. The silver rings around his turquoise eyes flare as he looks at me. “They can’t demand this of you.”
I muster a small smile for my friend. “I’ll be fine. Look after the demons for me.”
I don’t trust Eamon enough to leave them unattended in their weakened state. My footsteps are light as I tread behind my uncle to his tent. I study his lean, muscular back silently, already dreading the conversation that will come.
Silver stag embroideries and green ivory silks bedeck the interior of Rainer’s wide tent. I hardly think he cares for these lavish decorations but the effort of the Tluryan elves leaves me in awe. I’d always wanted to be one of them after my ascension. A silly dream that will never happen.
My uncle has no visible wounds, but his strength is depleted after that technique. He stops halfway across the room over the velvet chaise to remove his blazer, wincing at the small movement.
I charge to help him. Despite the countless wars and battles, Rainer only retains a single battle scar across his chest from a near fatal wound and the burn mark on his face.
It still hurts him from time to time, especially after exhausting himself like today.
“You should have Lady Deirdre look at this.”
“She’s draining herself. I’ll be fine after an hour nap,” he dismisses, pouring himself a goblet of wine. Typical Kvatosh’s servant.
“Would you like me to make you a sleeping draught?” I ask.
He drains his cup empty. “No need.”
Silence falls between us, heavy and loud. His sharp features are set in stone, unveiling not an ounce of emotion.
Well say your piece, Uncle.
“The decrepit bastards in the capital wouldn’t be able to resist that power,” he mutters, casting a baleful look in the direction of the Aldarelfs’ tent. “They’ll have more power over you.”
“No one is trying to hurt me, Uncle.” I let my voice fall.
He shifts to look at me, his eyes bleak and cold as they stare me down. I fight the urge to fidget or run. “You’re too soft. One day, I may not be here to protect you.”
I lift my head to meet his dark, unyielding gaze. “Let’s not pretend this is for my sake,” I say, louder than I mean to.
I have never raised my voice to Rainer. Something akin to pain crosses over his features. He blinks it away, leaning back in his seat.
“I won’t deny it. The Nightwalker is our best chance to kill Eirik,” he says, his voice brimming with exhaustion. “This is how we avenge your sister.”
A small part of me crushes.
“Wake me in an hour with whatever it is you decide,” he mutters, already drifting to sleep.
There is no calming this deep-seated hate for the Fae King. Aerin was everything to him. I understand that frustration. That same anger burns deep inside me too. I wonder if my thirst for revenge will bring me this far. Would I be willing to sacrifice someone the way Rainer does?
“Is Ctibor telling the truth? Does the Nightwalker stand a chance against the Savage Fae and their beasts?” I ask my uncle before sleep claims him.
“Probably…” he mutters, shutting his eyelids.
“I’ll do it.”
“You would?” His voice trails off.
Of course. I would do anything for Aelfheim. I just wish you cared. I just wish you weren’t so ready to throw me away. I want to tell him that, but Rainer is no longer with me.
Most people look peaceful in their sleep. My uncle remains unforgiving, hard, and detached, as if he can’t find his rest, not even in Somnus’ dreamworld.
I place the blanket on him before leaving the tent.
My eyes whirl to the commotion outside. The crowd parts for me as I calm my ragged breaths. Six young elves are standing beside Eamon clad in their full ceremonial dress.
“What is this?” I ask.
Tierra casts a sad look at the Maidens of Arawynn. “The Aeonians have decreed that the Nightwalker must be claimed for Aelfheim at all costs.”